Jailbait
by miseradreamer
Summary: A slayer stuck in a town without vampires seemed like torture, until she showed up. Then it was a different kind of torture. Rating for later chapters


**A/N:** I was bound to collide my fandoms at some point and once this little bunny popped into my head, I had to write it down. This story will probably be about 3ish chapters, and will be written as inspiration hits me. I hope you all enjoy it :)

As always please read and review :)!

* * *

"Ice cream sundae," I sigh, resting my chin in my hand and watching the small blond waitress write my order down on her pad with complete indifference. Obviously she's not as enthusiastic about her job as I am about mine.

She's cute, very cute, and has a bit of a familiar look to her. Her blond hair is tied back in a low ponytail, hair extending to the middle of her back, with shorter pieces falling in front of her face and has a morose expression tainting her delicate features. Something tells me that it would be a rare occurrence to witness her conveying any other emotion.

She's young. _Too young_. I keep forgetting I'm older than I am, thanks to that waste of time known as a coma I spent a year in. I only have twenty-one years of memory (alright maybe eighteen or nineteen cutting out all those younger years), but that doesn't make me any less than twenty-two years old with another one of those birthdays coming up around the corner. I can't be macking on a sixteen year old kid. I've already been to prison once and it sucked.

"That it," the waitress asks, routine apparent in her voice as she barely even glances back up at me.

"That's it," I repeat with a sort of sing-song tone and a grin that I'm only forcing in an attempt to persuade her expression to lighten. I have nothing better to do, but to make a game out of making her smile.

She ignores it, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear before glancing over at the clock on the wall and adding, "If you get a brownie with it you get a dollar off."

"Oh yeah," I smirk, eyebrows raising as I rap the fingers of my freehand successively on the table, "brownies any good?"

The girl finally pries her eyes from the clock and looks me over, sizing me up as if deciding if she can be truthful with me or not. After a brief silence she narrows her eyes at me before one corner of her mouth curls into the bare hint of a half smile and whispers, "It's not worth it."

I sit back in the booth, now entirely amused that it was so easy to get this girl to smile, even if it isn't much of a smile, and force a disappointed look, "Too bad."

"Well," the girl says, her eyes avoiding me again as she picks the laminated menu up off the table in front of me, "If you're really hungry, I guess I could throw in a piece of apple pie half price."

"Really," I draw, allowing my eyes to drift over her uniform before mentally slapping myself and averting my eyes, "Yeah, that sounds sweet."

"One apple pie and ice cream coming up," she says and when I chance a look back at her, shes got a full on smile on her lips, visible only for a moment before she turns with a swish of her ponytail and leaves me alone at the table.

I trace a crack in the table top with my finger until I start to think about all the bacteria that has possibly been building up there for who knows how long, then turn my attention to the view outside the window beside me. Not much to see; a few green trees, healthy patch of grass, and the Greyhound bus that is obstructing my view from everything else.

_Freedom_, I chuckle to myself bitterly, tapping my spoon down against my napkin as I stare at the decal on the side of the bus. The idea is still so new to me. Less than six months ago I was locked in a tiny cell and now I'm free to go wherever the wind blows. 'Free' of course, is not exactly the correct term. It's a lie.

I'm still a wanted criminal. A fugitive. A convicted murderer. I may have broken free from prison, but I will never have the luxury of living in peace. For the rest of my life I will constantly be looking over my shoulder and ducking away at the sight of any cop unless by some miracle my name gets cleared and I disappear off the America's most wanted list.

No, I will never again be able to feel what it's like to truly be free. The thought is unsettling, but I don't allow myself to dwell in that depression. I know I'm a changed woman, as cliched as that sounds, and although the darkness will always be lurking inside me, I've learned to control it and channel it towards something good. It will never again own me.

Still, after years inside that prison, surrounded by hundreds of women and never having even one moment of privacy, I'm still getting used to being on my own again. I haven't been for too long. That is the reason I had to leave, or at least the one I keep telling myself. It wasn't easy explaining to Robin that I needed to be on my own for awhile, to remember what it was like and to learn to accept who I am, and that I needed to do that before I could get into a relationship. It wasn't easy explaining to him that he was never the one I wanted to be in that relationship with either. So I didn't.

One night, just days after I had participated in preventing the apocalypse, I had awoken with a horrible knot in my stomach. First I thought it was cramps, but as the cobwebs of sleep cleared away, I realized it was something entirely different.

The cheap southern Californian motel room had been littered with dozens of new slayers, sound asleep and scattered in every space available in the small room. Buffy and I had claimed the bed. She was still recovering from the nasty stab wound to her gut, I had vowed to never again give up an opportunity to sleep in a bed and somehow we ended up being bunkmates with only minimal grumbling about it between us. Who knew we would ever go from mortal enemies to tolerating each other enough to share a bed and not murder each other in our sleep? Definitely not me.

Robin was still in the hospital but was recovering well and, from what I had heard, was expected to be released in the next few days. I hadn't gone to visit him. Hospitals still freaked me out and after spending a year in one I figured I had spent my share of time there to last the rest of my life. I didn't really care if it had upset Robin or not. What we had was fun, but it was temporary and the kind of thing that happened when facing an apocalypse. To be honest, I never thought I would survive. I never thought any of us would survive. I should've known that it would work out though. Buffy always won.

I remember glancing down at her in that motel room, sound asleep and curled against my side, and not being able to resist the smile that spread across my lips. I was so glad no one was awake to witness it, because it was without a doubt an embarrassing moment of weakness that I will forever take to my grave. I even reached over and tucked a blond lock behind her ear, revelling in the silky feel of her hair in a very creeper-esque way. She had sighed softly in her sleep, nestling her head further against my bare shoulder and the arm around my waist tightened possessively.

I knew that she hadn't been aware of anything that was happening. If she had been, she would've given me that disgusted look she always wore when her eyes were on me, shoved me away, then retreated back to her side of the bed. We weren't friends and I knew that I had killed any chance of that even happening a long time ago. The best I could ever hope for would be civil acquaintances.

With her body against mine and her arms so securely around me, I realized that I had never known that just touching someone else, without being naked or doing anything sexual, could possibly feel better than sex. Suddenly, I found a sadness developing from the knowledge that I would never be able to lay with her like this while she was awake.

I had never been good with intimacy in the past and developed the mindset that it was only for people who were weak. I was always convinced that the only romance I needed was a hard fuck to unwind after a fight and nothing else. But the weight of her arm resting on top of my stomach, with her hand tucked beneath my side, and the soft tickle of her breath hitting my cheek made me second guess that. It was actually a lot better having her wrapped around me than our usual activity of punching each other's faces in, although that one's a good stress reliever too. It also made me realize just how complicated my feelings towards her were. As much as I had wanted to attribute the pangs in my groin to a logical need to work out the sexual tension that had gathered since the big showdown, I was beginning to see that it was more than that. For the first time in my life I was craving something more than just a good fuck and I was craving it from Buffy, the girl I'd always thought I'd loathed. It was weird being strangely content to simply lay there with her and do nothing more than that. And that was so messed up.

Honestly, that feeling scared the shit out of me and when something really scares me like that, I tend to avoid it and run away.

So with my mind made up, I had carefully lifted her arm from my waist and slid out from under her. I paused to give Buffy one last glance and that pause ended up lasting a lot longer than I had planned. I finally broke my stare once I realized my hand was reaching out to touch her and actually slapped it away with my other as I tried to shake myself out of the unsettling fixation on Buffy that I suddenly had. Then I grabbed my duffle bag from the floor beside the bed and set back out into the world on my own.

* * *

I finish my sundae and apple pie without the satisfaction that I thought I would get from it and glance around for my blond waitress. She's got the grim expression on her face again as she takes another table's order, and instead of waiting for my bill, I drop some bills on the table with enough for a very healthy tip, then head to the bathroom. I know I shouldn't be spending my money like that, I don't have very much, but something tells me that she needs it more than I do. Besides, I know how to take care of myself and do what I need to do to get some cash and she looks like she's barely hanging on to life.

I relieve myself in the bathroom, a little too excited to be using a toilet that flushes and not the disgusting hole on the bus, then give my face a quick scrub before heading back out towards the bus. I figure I probably have just enough time to have a quick smoke before I'm confined to the bus again for hours, but unfortunately I've never been very good at scheduling my time and when I step outside the diner, the bus is gone.

I glance around the parking lot, thinking or rather hoping, that it just moved somewhere else, but of course it's not. Luck has never been on my side. I thought that maybe now that I had repented for my sins and started fighting the good fight my luck would change and my life would be a bit brighter. Apparently that's not how it works.

I can feel that old anger building within me, the real dark kind that makes me want to start punching anything and anyone, but I take a deep breath and swallow it down as I storm back into the diner. I find the blonde waitress standing beside the counter by the cash register and make my way towards her, telling myself over and over again to calm down so that I don't do something I will regret later. I already have to be careful because I'm a wanted criminal, the last thing I need to do is to draw more attention to myself by causing a scene.

"Yo," I say to her casually, demonstrating more control than I thought I had, "You see where my bus went?"

The girl looks up from the register and glances out the front window with a crinkle of her nose. I would think it looked cute if I wasn't currently fuming inside and trying not to crush on a kid.

"Sorry," she says softly and sounds genuinely sorry about it, "It left a few minutes ago. I thought you had gotten on it since you paid and all."

"No," I say with a nervous laugh filling my voice as I begin to lose that control, "See I'm suppose to be on that bus. My stuff is on that bus! My money, my clothes, everything I own is on that fucking bus!"

Her eyes shift nervously and I know I'm starting to scare her as she chews on her lip and apologizes again, "If you want your tip back I understand. I don't mind-"

"Fuck," I growl, slumping down into the nearest chair and take a deep breath, in and out, to calm myself, "No, you earned that money. Keep it."

"Thanks," she whispers shyly, tucking that same piece of hair behind her ear again as her smile returns. I'm a sucker, obviously, because I soon realize that I'm smiling back at her like an idiot, despite my unfortunate situation. Damn jailbait is going to get me into trouble.

My stuff isn't really that big of a deal. I don't actually own anything that's worth anything and I'm already wearing my favourite pair of black leather pants, but my bag had a couple hundred bucks in it that I had _acquired_ in my travels and that is definitely going to be missed. Now I'm stuck in God knows where, with only fifteen bucks in my pocket and I don't even have a change of underwear. I rub my face in my hands then look back up at the girl and ask, "So where am I then?"

The waitress grabs her note pad off the counter as she spots new customers settling into a booth and answers as she passes by me, "Lima, Ohio."

* * *

I lean back against the leg of an angel statue atop the mausoleum in one of the handful of cemeteries that populate the small town. There hasn't been an ounce of suspicious activity all night; no chaos demons or evil warlocks, not even a single vampire, and I'm near the conclusion that the demon world has yet to find Lima, Ohio. Of course the most powerful slayer in the world (although I guess an argument could be made that I share that title with Buffy), is stuck in the only town in North America that has yet to be infiltrated by the legions of the undead.

The night is chillier than I'm used to, now that I have spent the past five or so years in California. I've grown accustom to the warm climate there and even though I know the night would be beautiful if I was still used to Boston's weather, I can't help but grumble about it. I'm especially not happy that I have to spend the night outside, but I somehow manage to convince myself to just be thankful that it's not raining, or snowing, or both.

I'd give anything to relieve some stress on a vamp right now and find myself praying for something, anything, to hit. Nothing comes though and, except for the crickets, the night is silent. I'm beginning to drift off when I hear it, in that spot just before you fall asleep when you're not really sure if you're asleep or awake, so when I hear it I'm not sure if I imagined it or not. Either way it startles me out of my haze and all of my muscles tense as I strain my ears waiting to hear the sound again.

My senses are all on edge, eyes darting around the cemetery and scanning every dark shadow for any sign of movement. I wait, holding my breath with my hands pressed against the cool stone roof of the mausoleum, ready to push off it at any moment and give myself that extra burst of energy to propel me forward. I'm beginning to relax when the sound finally pierces through the night again and I'm springing into action before a single thought has time to formulate in my brain. It's a scream, a girl's scream and I've heard enough of them to be able to differentiate between a joyful scream and a terrified scream. I move on instinct, knowing exactly what direction the sound had come from, with my feet tearing into the grass as I leap over raised tomb stones, dodge trees, then climb up and over the high, stone, cemetery wall.

I find the girl directly on the other side of the wall as I find my footing on the sidewalk below. She's a small, young brunette, frantically trying to fight off the large figure that's got a good hold on her. It's too dark for me to see what kind of a demon I'm dealing with and its back is to me, but I don't see any tails or scaly things and it looks as if its moving in towards her neck so I assume vampire.

"Hey," I yell, grabbing the back of his jacket as I yank him away from her and toss him headfirst down the sidewalk. He seems a lot lighter than I expect, but maybe I'm just used to fighting those swarms of uber vamps that I've forgotten what a normal vamp feels like, "How about you pick on someone your own size."

So the quip is unoriginal, but I'm a bit rusty. I place myself in front of the girl, ready in fighting stance as I prepare myself for a fight, but instead of turning around, the vamp just gets up from the ground and starts running in the opposite direction.

"Stop him, he has my limited collector's edition of Funny Girl," the girl screams and I have no idea what that means, but I'm already running after him and this vamp is a lot slower than my usual vamps. In no time at all I'm tackling him to the ground, straddling him as I flip him over and pull my arm back, fist clenched and ready to fly into his face, while my other hand locks around his neck.

"I'm sorry," he screams and my arm falls limp when I finally get a good look at his face.

"You're human," I say with a bit of shock and a lot of disappointment as I glare down at the boy below me.

"Please don't hurt me," he begs, tears streaming down his face as he shoves a duffle bag into my hands and squirms out from under me, "I'm really sorry."

I sigh as I watch him run down the sidewalk and disappear around the corner at the end of the street, clutching the bag tightly in my hands as I push myself back up to my feet. My nerves are all on fire, expecting a fight and receiving nothing in return, and I feel that anger building again, because I'm wound so tight, with no outlet to let it loose. I hate this stupid town. What kind of a place doesn't even have vampires?

"Thank you so much," I hear, from behind me and it takes me a moment to remember about the girl.

"Yeah, sure," I shrug, turning towards her and giving her bag back to her, "Been awhile since I stopped a mugging."

"I don't know what I would've done if I had lost my Funny Girl," the girl says with wide, fearful eyes as she hugs her bag tight against her chest, "Make up and ballet slippers can be replaced, but not Barbra."

I still have no idea what she's talking about, but I've done my duty and I don't care so I just shrug again and begin to walk past her, back towards the cemetery, "Sure, whatever."

I hear the girl's light footsteps quicken as she catches up to me and not even a second passes before she's talking again, "You were really amazing, you know. You're very strong. You just picked up that boy and threw him like he weighed nothing at all. It was remarkably impressive."

"Thanks," I mutter, keeping my pace steady as I head towards the side of the cemetery wall where I had jumped over.

"And you just appeared out of nowhere," she continues with wonder in her voice, "like some kind of superhero right out of the movies. I really can't thank you enough for your assistance."

"Don't worry about it," I say, stopping in front of the wall and hoping the kid will take the hint and leave me in peace. She doesn't though, she just stops right beside me and stares at me like I'm Jesus or something. I wait another minute for her to leave, but when she doesn't budge, I finally turn my attention towards her and actually look at her for the first time.

She looks really young, probably the same age as my jailbait blond waitress from earlier, but her outfit makes her look even younger. Her dark hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail that falls straight down past her shoulders, and she's wearing a navy blue coat left undone. Underneath I can see a tight black leotard covering her torso with light pink stockings clinging to her legs and a matching transparent, thin, pink ballet skirt that is lightly whipping at the tops of her thighs in the wind. She's really pretty in an unconventional sort of way, but as I look at her I'm starting to worry that this jailbait might actually get me into some real trouble. Maybe it's the innocence that's apparent in her chocolate brown eyes, or the way she continuously bites and licks at her full red lips, or maybe it's just because I'm horny from a fight that didn't happen, but whatever it is I can hear the alarms going off in my head and know I have to remove myself from the situation immediately.

"You gonna stare at me all night," I ask, folding my arms across my chest and leaning my shoulder against the wall.

"Sorry," she mutters as her eyes fall to her feet and her cheeks reddened, "It's just- I mean I- well... where are you going?"

The question seems to interrupt all her other thoughts as she raises an eyebrow and looks up at the top of the stone wall barricading the public from the aging corpses. I'm not prepared for the question and my usual ability to think on my toes abandons me. I follow her gaze to the top of the wall, searching my brain for any explanation as to why I would be stopping at such an odd place, but all I can come up with is a shrug. She notices my hesitation and fills the silence with her own voice once again, "I only meant- well I was wondering what direction you were going in? Normally I have no problems walking myself home from dance class, but after tonight's events and the fact that my fathers aren't even home to greet me, I would feel much safer if you could, maybe, walk with me? If you're not too busy of course."

I stare back at her for a moment, noting the nervousness in her stance, the way her eyes continuously dart to every shadow cast on the dark street, and how her small fingers are trembling against her bag, and take pity on her. I have nothing better to do. This stupid town has no demons to fight and I don't have enough money to spend on drinking away my sorrows and I'm on the good side now. I guess that means walking little girls home, to make sure they get there safely.

"Sure," I sigh, pushing off from the side of the wall, "Got nothing better to do."

The girl brightens immediately and unleashes her excitement in a semi-contained skip and blindingly white smile, before calming herself and saying, "Thank you."

We're not even two steps before she's speaking again, but I'm starting to realize that I really don't mind it. She's cute and it's been awhile since I've really talked to anyone and probably even longer since someone's wanted to talk to me, so I guess it's kind of nice.

"My name's Rachel Berry," she says, extending her hand to me as we walk.

I take it a little awkwardly because it's not exactly the easiest thing to shake someone's hand while you're both walking and answer, "I'm Faith."

She silent for awhile, but continues to stare at me expectantly, then finally asks, "Do you have a last name, Faith?"

I hate talking about myself. I keep my eyes fixed ahead and say, "Not one that I use."

"I like Faith," she says softly and I know she's trying to make me feel better, she thinks that she's upset me, "It's like the famous superstars, you know like Madonna or Whitney. They don't need a last name because their first name is more than enough. I want to be like that one day."

I glance sideways at her, wondering if this girl is for real, and she's staring up into the stars with this look of pure hope and ambition that she almost looks like she could be one of those Japanese cartoon characters with huge shining eyes.

"I'm already famous, in select crowds," I mumble and her head snaps towards me so fast, I actually worry that she may have gotten whiplash.

"Are you a performer," she demands, asking the question like it's crucial to her very existence.

I think about that question for a minute and then with a bitter chuckle I answer, "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Have I seen any of your work," she asks and her level of excitement seems to be reaching dangerous heights.

"Maybe," I shrug, who knows what she's seen on the news. It's possible that my prison break has made it all the way to the televisions of Ohio, maybe I really am one of America's Most Wanted, or maybe the story of Sunnydale turning into a giant crater was broadcast here. I may not have single handedly caused that last one, but I sure as hell helped.

"Broadway or Hollywood," she continues and now she really is skipping along beside me.

"Neither," I laugh, slipping my hands into my back pockets, "I'm not that kind of a performer."

"Well what do you do then," she asks, her excitement has dropped down a level, but it's still concerning.

"I guess I'm a fighter," I answer and I really want to get off this topic, it's not going to lead anywhere good.

"That makes sense," she says with a nod, "The way you saved me, just throwing that thief away like it was nothing, it's probably an everyday thing for you."

"Something like that," I comment, but I'm really thinking about how the old Faith would've been throwing this girl down the sidewalk.

"So," she says, dragging the word out and glancing down at her fingers before continuing, "What brings you to Lima?"

This time it's my turn to snap my head towards her, of course it's a lot less violently than she had, "How do you know I'm not from Lima?"

She snorts. It's cute.

"Lima's a small town," she explains, eyes rolling before they fall back on me, "and I've lived here all my life. Maybe I don't know everybody who lives here, but I've never heard of a fighter named Faith. More importantly, you don't look small town."

"Oh really," I say, with a soft laugh, "So what do I look like then?"

"I don't know," she shrugs with a smile, "but definitely a big city. Like New York maybe?"

I shake my head, "Boston. But that was like a whole 'nother life ago."

"Since then," she asks.

"All over," I answer, "I'm not much for settlin' down any place."

"You still didn't answer my question," she says and I notice that we've stopped on the driveway of a very nice looking house.

"Which one," I ask, my eyes falling back onto Rachel.

"What brings you to Lima," she repeats, her head tilting to the side with curiosity.

"Fate," I sigh, but she stares back at me and waits for me to elaborate, "The bus I was on made a stop here and left without me but taking everything I own."

"That's horrible," she gasps, her eyes drifting up to her house, then back at me as if trying to make a decision.

I shrug, brushing it off as if it was nothing, "Shit happens. Anyway, I'm guessing this is your house, which means I've fulfilled my duty."

"Yes," she says slowly, "Thank you for keeping me company."

"Sure," I say, already turning around and beginning to head back towards the cemetery.

"Are you hungry," she asks quickly and the question immediately causes my feet to stop. I can almost hear my stomach growl just from the word. I haven't eaten since the diner at lunch time and I'm starved.

"Yeah," I answer, turning back towards her, but trying not to appear too eager.

"I was just going to make myself some supper," she says, shuffling her feet, "I could make something for you too if you'd like. I'm vegan, but if you would like something else I could-"

"No," I interrupt, "Whatever you make is fine."

I wouldn't mind a steak, but this girl is being so good to me, I don't want her to go out of her way. She could give me a head of lettuce and I'd be satisfied.

"Okay," she smiles, then begins to walk up to her house while I follow behind. She slips her key into the lock and says, "I don't normally do this, bring strange people into my house, but I feel like I should do something as a thanks for what you did for me. You seem like someone I could trust."

_Big mistake, little girl_.

"You sure your parents won't mind," I ask cautiously, hesitating at the threshold after she had made her way through the front door.

"Like I said," she answers, ushering me in with a wave of her hand, "My dads aren't home. They're gone on a cruise all week."

I relax slightly, with that knowledge, stepping into her house and closing the door behind me before her words settle in, "Dads? As in two of them?"

"Yes," she replies with a proud nod, obviously used to receiving that question, and slipping her coat off before hanging it in the closet, "I have two gay dads."

"Cool," I nod back, it's not something I'm used to, but it's also not something I have a problem with. My own sexuality is pretty undefined, which is how I like it, so I'm not one to judge others. It's still not something I've ever come across in person, though. I'm still wrapping my brain around the two dads thing when I feel warm hands slip underneath my leather jacket, against my bare shoulders, and the contact startles my attention to the young girl who has moved to stand in front of me.

"Sorry," she blushes, "I just thought I would take your jacket for you."

"Oh," I answer, dumbly with a shake of my head, as she helps pull my jacket off me, "I'm not used to... people."

Her eyes linger on mine for a moment while she hold my jacket in her hands, then offers a smile before turning towards the closet, "I'm sensing you have an extraordinary story to tell."

My attention is drawn to her impressive house as I slip off my boots and walk further inside, admiring the expensive decor and using all my inner strength to ignore the tingling in my fingers, begging me to steal something. Instead, I lift a framed picture from a shelf, feeling pangs of jealousy as I gaze at the smiling faces of Rachel and who I assume to be her dads.

"Some stories are better left untold," I say, absently tracing the outline of her face as I continue to stare at the photograph.

"I don't believe that," she scoffs beside me and her close proximity breaks my stare, allowing me to return the picture to its original place.

"Trust me," I smirk, my eyes travelling all over her living room, "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

I feel the very tip of her finger moving over my upper arm and I tear my attention away from the room to glance down at it. Her eyes are trained on my tattoo as her finger lightly traces the design, just enough to tickle, sending electric shocks all through my body and especially to places they shouldn't be going. I quickly brush her finger away with my other hand and take a step away from her, pretending to be interested in some sort of modern art piece on the wall that I don't understand.

"I like your tattoo," she says, following me but staying at a good distance, "Did it hurt?"

I think about Kakistos, the maenads and I change the subject, "How about that food?"

"Do you mind if I change first," she asks, pulling the tie loose from her ballet skirt and unravelling the thin material from her body. I'm staring, I know I'm staring, but I can't help it. The ballet attire is so tight on her that it may as well be another layer of skin and I can see every curve and outlined muscle

her body has to offer. The soft curve of her small breasts, the ridges of her ribs below, the subtle dip of her navel and the defined lines of her hipbones. My self control is faltering as my eyes travel lower, even as my brain screams at me to turn away, and I can feel myself beginning to lean towards her wanting to pounce. Just one little bite of her collarbone, just to see what it tasted like, it wouldn't be so bad.

"You should change," I say and the growl, low in my throat, is unsettling.

"I'll be right back, just make yourself at home," she says, with a voice so innocent that I know she's completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. She moves to brush past me, her chest brushing against mine as she moves and I snap. My reflexes act before my brain can stop me and before I realize what I'm doing, my hands have locked around her upper arms, pulling her against me.

Her eyes widen with surprise and her mouth falls open with a gasp, but she doesn't struggle against my hold or make any attempt to move away from me. She seems to melt against me instead, her body relaxing as her hands rest against my chest and then my brain has had its time to catch up. I let go. She looks disappointed.

"Sorry," I mumble, backing away from her, "Reflexes."

She nods and whispers, "I'll be right back."

I watch her leave, my eyes following her all the way up the stairs until she disappears from my view, then I smack myself on the forehead, hard.

"Fuck," I mutter while heading into the kitchen. I know I'm always filled with raging hormones, but she's just a kid. I need to get a grip on myself. I don't know when jailbait became my kryptonite, but apparently it's causing some major judgement issues. What I need is some sleaze of a guy to bump uglies with for a night, just to put a damper on my hormones and hopefully knock this teen girl fantasy from my head.

I open the fridge to distract myself, browsing around the different types of food and opening a few tupperware containers to sniff the contents. Everything looks good and I'm so hungry, but I feel like it would be pretty rude if I just started shovelling the food into my mouth. The girl was nice enough to let me into her home and promise to make me dinner, the least I can do is hold off until she actually makes it.

I close the fridge door and slowly walk around the kitchen, basically just pacing while I wait for her to return. When that bores me, I push myself up to sit on the counter, swinging my legs as I try to decide where I'm going to go from here. I got no money, no clothes, nothing. Sounds familiar. The old me would jack a car and kill its owner, steal their stuff and hide out in their place for awhile, but the new me can't do that. I'm not exactly sure where I stand on stealing, but murder is definitely out of the question.

Tonight seems like a nice enough night to spend outside in the cemetery, but not something I want to make a routine out of, so that means I gotta try to figure out a legit way to get some cash and get the hell out of this town. Legit being the tough part.

One thing is for certain, though. This night ends with dinner. I'll just shovel as much food into my mouth that my stomach can hold, then take off with nothing more than a thank you. I don't have the self control to stay any longer than that and not take advantage of the house's petite, brunette occupant.

As she steps into the kitchen, my resolve goes completely out the window. She's barefoot, with the shortest pair of red cotton shorts, clinging to her hips and other _parts_ that leave very little to the imagination. Her legs look so tan and long, despite her size, and the way her muscles flex as she moves is hypnotizing. On top she's wearing a tight black camisole, obviously without a bra, and all I can think of is that God hates me.

You can't throw scantily clad jailbait at me like this and expect me to be able to control myself. I'm still working on that being good thing and right now, I want the evil side of me to win.

_Fuck it._


End file.
